I turned my head at the first touch of the silvery sound on my ear and began to move toward it, drawn as a moth to a flame. From that first silvery sound, I had known what the instrument was: The celtic harp. I didn't much care that Mom was asking me what I was doing: The spell of the instrument had caught me, and I *had* to find out who played so beautifully now. It was all I could do to keep from singing when I got to the player: She was performing a song I recognized.
I had been waiting for the bus on a Friday at FGCU and walked into the student union, and stopped to rest for a bit: My suitcase was not the lightest thing to carry. Even if it did have wheels.
Then I heard it: The thrum thrum thrumming, and began to walk in ttime with the beat of it, barely aware of my own movements until I was nearly upon the player of the drum itself. My thought on my way there was how very good he was, and I would one day like to play like him.
These are two examples of friendships that have beecaune because of the touch of music. Perhaps I shouldcall one an acquaintence: I have never again met the drummer.
The harp player however: I now see her once a year, every year, at a Ren Faire down here.
From that one touch of the harp she held, came the warm glow of a friendship, one that, though we don't see each other much, I consider very dear to me. She and I will sing, sing together every year, and it is just amazing, and is one of the high lights of my year.
This entry has been written for therealljidol Thank you for reading.